Fifty years ago, humans had work, home, and a reflective third space — temple, church, community centre. That third space is gone. Then the pandemic took work. Now we're trapped in one screen, with no vantage point left to see our own lives.
Podbit · On Purpose with Jay Shetty
Fifty years ago, humans had work, home, and a reflective third space — temple, church, community centre. That third space is gone. Then the pandemic took work. Now we're trapped in one screen, with no vantage point left to see our own lives.
Where this was said
At 24:43 · chapter starts 24:04
Madonna opens with a diagnosis of modern restlessness: we live in a chaotic, noisy world where people cannot walk down the street without filling the silence, and without a spiritual practice you never stop to ask what any of it means. [1] — Jay Shetty "Fifty years ago, humans had work, home, and a reflective third space — temple, church, community centre. That third space is gone. Then the…" 24:43 She traces her own search — from a Buddhist roommate who never seemed rattled, to Ashtanga yoga under teacher Eddie Stern in New York, to discovering Kabbalah as the tradition that finally gave her answers after fame, fortune, and every material reward had failed to produce happiness. Jay Shetty introduces the Third Space Theory as a structural explanation for what Madonna is describing: roughly 50 years ago humans inhabited three spaces — work, home, and a reflective third space like a temple or community centre. The pandemic eliminated the workplace for many; the third space had already been eroding for decades. What remains is one screen, a virtual world that removes even the physical sense of being somewhere. Madonna extends Jay's point one step further: even a virtual world is not inherently bad, but without consciousness it is pointless. The conversation closes on the ritual of studying — reading sacred texts, poetry, the Vedas — as the practical anchor that keeps a spiritual life alive.
Jay Shetty described how humans once had three spaces — work, home, and a third reflective community space — but that third space has been eroded over the past 50 years.
More freedom doesn't produce more happiness — it produces more anxiety. Kierkegaard identified this 180 years ago: the more options you have, the more you feel the 'dizziness of freedom,' a paralytic unease at having to choose any single one. The freest generation in history is, by his prediction, exactly the most anxious.
Every person lives in constant tension between infinite possible selves and the finite, limited self they actually are. Tipping too far toward infinite possibility produces a loss of identity; too much confinement in the finite produces stagnation. Kierkegaard argued that this tension is never solved — only managed.
Standing outside a cold pool imagining reasons not to jump is the exact experience of pre-commitment anxiety. Once you jump, the shock passes and you wonder why you ever hesitated. The same mechanism governs every significant commitment in life — the dread is always on the outside, the relief on the inside.
Traditional societies had rites of passage that closed off childhood and opened adulthood. Modern society kept the in-between liminal phase but eliminated the ritual that resolved it. The result is 'emerging adulthood' — a decade or more stuck in the transition — engineered by rising education requirements, women entering the workforce, and delayed marriage.
When Mark Manson proposed to his wife, software he didn't know was running — the low-level assessment of sexual market value and other options — suddenly shut down. Commitment doesn't take freedom away. It trades optionality (freedom to do many things) for focus (freedom from distraction). John Dewey called these positive and negative freedom, and the latter is more powerful.
Mark Manson spent years as a location-independent digital nomad — always a new country, a new woman, a new venture. Then the diminishing returns kicked in: countries started feeling the same, dates felt identical, businesses all frustrated him. The cure wasn't more novelty. It was narrowing: one place, one person, one career.
Every meaningful commitment has a dip — an initial peak of excitement, a brutal trough of difficulty, and a second higher peak for those who push through. Institutions once kept people in the dip long enough to reach the other side. With infinite optionality and no institutions, everyone bails at the bottom and restarts the cycle of shallow first peaks.
Stage one — the aesthetic — is the default: chasing sensation, novelty, and keeping every door open. Stage two — the ethical — is learning to choose with eyes wide open, accepting the trade-offs. Stage three — the religious — is when a commitment becomes so total that it no longer feels like a choice. It just feels like who you are.
The ethical stage is rational commitment — you can explain your choices. The religious stage is when your commitment exceeds rational justification. You can't explain why. It just feels like it chose you. Kierkegaard called this the 'virtue of the absurd' — and it's represented not just in faith but in the entrepreneurs, artists, and athletes who can't imagine doing anything else.
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